Caught In The Act of Love
by Courtney Belle
Summary: COMPLETE. Movieverse. Five months after Doc Ock's demise and Peter and MJ are still going strong. A simple fluffy look at a typical meeting between the two.


**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own Spider-Man (no matter how much I would like to), and all I've got are ten empty wallets. And I don't want you to have them because they're all really nifty wallets, so I'd like it if I didn't get sued over this.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE (08/12/06):** As of today, this story (formerly known as "Pitfalls") is officially done. The chapters that originally accompanied it have been deleted, and I am classifying it as a one-shot. I apologize sincerely to the readers that endured all of them cruel month-long waits, and hope that you understand. I simply don't have the passion for this story that I began with, and feel it is unfair to everyone to keep playing this game of 'get bursts of energy every twelve months and then go back into hibernation for fifteen more'. I love you all, and your reviews have meant the world to me. Thank you, and again, I am sorry.

**Caught In The Act of Love**

Mary Jane glared at the coffee maker.

The coffee maker continued to sit innocently on the tacky orange table.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

She sighed and leaned against the back of the front counter, holding herself up with her elbows. Being in between gigs was worse than she ever could have imagined, mainly because now that she had been given a taste of the bright glow of (off-) Broadway, working for minimum wage in a two-bit diner was even less romantic of a job than it had been in the first place. This dive was almost enough to make her miss Moondance...well, maybe not that bad, but bad nonetheless. The crackpot that had dreamed up the notion of the starving artist had obviously never endeavored to become an artist himself. Oh, sure, it would make the perfect back story to accompany the history of her rise to stardom, but when it came to the actually-living-through-it portion of the tale, she would rather be a well-fed, well-paid, non-waitress. As long as her landlord continued to feel the insane need to charge rent and she didn't have a steady cushy acting job, though, she would just have to live with pouring coffee and serving greasy cheeseburgers to even greasier customers.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

_Oh, yay,_ thought MJ listlessly, eyes still on the half-full coffee machine. _At the rate this is going, I'll have a full pot by the start of tomorrow's shift._

It was then that she remembered what she would be doing between 6:00 that night and work the next day, and the thought of it brought a smile to her face. The smile grew considerably wider once her mind turned to the person she would be spending the evening with. A date with Peter Parker. They had started dating five months ago, and yet the mere thought of being with him still sent a thrill through her body and made her stomach succumb to swarms of proverbial butterflies. And tonight was their anniversary! Maybe if she sorted through her closet just one more time, she would be able to find a dress he hadn't already seen her wearing (or maybe she could just sneak into her roommate's room and sort through _her_ closet), but how would she wear her hair? Peter always said she looked beautiful no matter what she was wearing, whether she had caked on the makeup or not. No amount of begging seemed to be able to break his stubborn silence on his preferences in regards to her hair, but she _so_ wanted tonight to be absolutely perfect.

Absentmindedly, Mary Jane pushed herself away from the counter and peered at her reflection in a broken toaster that her new boss had yet to dispose of. Up or down? Down or up? The toaster did not answer. It did, however, tell her that if she was going to dress to impress, something would need to be done about a ghastly blemish that was blossoming on her chin. Where had THAT come from? Weren't pimples supposed to just vanish as soon as, if not before, you hit the legal drinking age? _Peter_ never got pimples. Neither did the actors and actresses she worked with. Damn them all and their perfect skin.

The coffee maker was making progress. Drip. Drip. Drip. Ah, so the coffee gods had decided to have some sympathy on her at last. If only they could teach the stupid machine how to balance making progress as well as coffee. There was, after all, an annoying man sitting in booth nine who was probably sending her a number of ferocious glares over his large order of chili cheese fries. Well, Mr. Booth Nine needed to learn that patience was a virtue, and it wasn't her fault that Emilio (or, as he was more commonly known, the boss from hell) was using a coffee maker that was obviously constructed before...time. Or something. He would just have to tough it out and wait.

_And who drinks coffee with chili cheese fries, anyway? Coffee is for our breakfast and dessert selections...not for tubs of grease._

Drip. Drip. Drip.

"Jeez, could you take any longer?" she asked the coffee machine, still examining herself in the toaster. Hair up or hair down? WHY was it so hard to choose? It wasn't like she and Pete were going to go out to some expensive Parisian restaurant where the waiters replenished your water after one sip, or anything outlandishly high-society posh like that. One, there was no way in hell either of their paychecks were going to pay for anything like that. Two, too stuffy an atmosphere. If she wanted dangling ivy digging into her back, she would have married John (though she still suspected she wouldn't have been able to go up the aisle without gagging at the elaborate and WAY overdone decorations – one church was simply not meant to hold that many flowers). She and Peter were more like dash-out-the- door-and-grab-a-pretzel-from-a-cart kind of people who didn't need dimly lit ballrooms or billion-dollar bottles of wine. They had each other, and being with Peter was all that she needed to have a good time. Of course, she would like nothing more than to have a full date that didn't get interrupted part-way through when Peter had to dash off for a few minutes to take care of bank robbers or muggers or carjackers or rapists, but she had the love of her life, so there wasn't much to complain about. He _could_ save people, and she always had a swell of pride whenever he rushed off to do so. Plus, he always managed to look pretty damn good when he came back to her with his hair all tousled, buttoning up his shirt to hide the Spider- man getup, which hugged at his body and showcased every last one of his muscles...

Off subject.

Withholding a sigh, Mary Jane reached back and grabbed her hair so that she could pass the time experimenting. French twist? Nah. A bun? Ugh, definitely not. Maybe she needed to get another haircut...the strawberry- blonde dye job had been a necessity at the time (as well as an obligation), but now that _Earnest_ had finished its run, maybe she should go back to the deep strawberry red she had sported in High School? Nah. Maybe a happy medium? Something a bit less blonde, definitely, she was nothing if not a redhead at heart.

Or maybe she could pull part of it back and –

"Excuse me, Miss Watson? If you're done playing with your hair, you've got a job to do!"

_Oh, like you can talk._

Emilio was sitting in the back kitchen, feet propped up on the fold-up card table, watching the NYWL on a ten-year-old television the size of his fist. She had an excuse...the coffee machine (Emilio's coffee maker, she might add) wasn't doing its job, and the lunchtime rush was over, leaving only Mr. Booth Nine, who was simply begging for his coffee to be spit in, and a young couple tucked into a corner, paying little attention to their food and far more to each other. Yay, it looked like she would be getting their leftovers. As if she needed any more fattening food taking up space in her refrigerator.

"Miss Watson!" came Emilio's voice again. Mary Jane rolled her eyes at him and straightened up, pushing the useless toaster aside and returning her attentions to the coffee maker. Had it stopped working? It wouldn't surprise her if any moment now the thing exploded in her face or something. It would just be her luck. A coffee stain to mar an already ugly waitress uniform, an angry, coffeeless Mr. Booth Nine who would no doubt refrain from tipping her, and...a great number of equally terrible things that usually happened when coffee makers exploded.

"All right, all right, I'm working," she called back to her boss, who seemed to be too enamored with whatever fight was taking place that he no longer cared about what she was doing. To prove some kind of point that she was indeed doing something worthwhile, she turned around to grab one of the many chipped and cracked coffee mugs and came face to face with her boyfriend. Who was sitting there calmly, looking at her with an amused glint in his eyes. Who hadn't so much as made a sound when he sat down behind her. That sneaky little...

"Peter!"

Thrilled to death to see him, yet still somewhat self-conscious of the waitress uniform that clashed with her hair and probably made her humungous pimple look as furious and red as a clown nose, Mary Jane immediately leaned forward and planted a chaste kiss right on his lips.

"How long have you been there?"

Peter chuckled and smiled that charmingly boyish smile that made her knees go weak. It was such a cheesy thing for her knees to do, but they did it anyway. "Long enough to see you playing _Vogue_ with the brave little toaster."

Mary Jane flushed and leaned forward to support herself against the counter, dying to kiss him again. Just what was it that made that man so damn kissable? She would probably spend her whole life composing the list, and she would probably (i.e. most definitely) never finish it.

God, could he kiss.

Ahem.

"Actually," she started, wanting to defend herself. "I was trying to decide how to do my hair for tonight. _Vogue_ can eat its heart out."

Peter's forehead crinkled as his eyebrows knitted together. "Tonight?"

"Please don't tell me you've forgotten." All the acting classes in the world wouldn't have been able to get her to keep the exasperation out of her voice. Just because he swung around the city in blue-and-red spandex didn't give him the right to forget something as important as their five-month anniversary! As soon as she could, she was going to go out and buy him a giant calendar to hang on his ceiling. It would conveniently have all important dates regarding their relationship circled in red sharpie. She was willing to bet that _Aunt May_ would want to have them over for dinner sometime soon in honor of the occasion. His aunt! How could he not _remember_?

"Tonight?" he repeated slowly, drumming his fingers on the countertop.

He really had forgotten!

Unless...

_Is he_ **_smirking_** _at me?_

And he was.

"Stop joking around with me!" Mary Jane scolded, hitting him playfully on the arm. Of course he hadn't forgotten! Hell, he probably had a giant calendar set up already. It was stressful enough trying to balance his college classes (half of which Mary Jane wasn't even going to pretend she could pronounce) and his Spidey duties, now he had to dote on his selfish girlfriend. Not that she could help it if she was selfish. Who would want to have to share their boyfriend with all of NYC anyway? But he loved her, and she loved him, and they were together. Now that she had stopped mentally complaining about how neglectful he was, Mary Jane realized that Peter really was the most thoughtful guy she had ever been with. The day Flash Thompson bought her flowers and made her day magical just by being in it was the day she could beat Peter at chess. Harry had done a good job of being thoughtful and sweet all throughout their relationship, but now that she looked back on it, had he been going out with her for any reason other than to have someone on his arm that would impress his father? Huh. Look what happened when he found out what Norman Osborn had to say about women and their motives. John, on the other hand, was a different story. He had been everything she thought she wanted, considerate, supporting, respectful, willing to do anything for her...but he hadn't been Peter, and he definitely didn't kiss her that well upside down. Or at all, really, if she wanted to be truthful. None of them had been Peter.

But now she had Peter. She was the luckiest girl in the whole world. The fact that they even _had_ an anniversary was an exhilarating, beautiful thing that she would never take for granted ever again. Who cared if they got dressed up and went out? They could spend the night in their pajamas on the couch, not quite watching DVDs until sunup, for all she cared. As long as they were together.

Now it was just a matter of making sure that no psychotic madmen tried to take over New York City within the next few hours. They would most certainly regret ruining her evening if they did. Forget Spider-Man putting a stop to their treacherous villainy, they would have a very pissed off Mary Jane Watson to contend with.

Peter's eyes softened and he reached out to take one of her hands in his own. "Of course I didn't forget." Her heart soared as he began to stroke her palm with his thumb. "I've been spending all day thinking up every possible way it can go wrong."

He would.

And gods, she loved him for it.

"If only crime had a pause button," she said off-handedly, dutifully ignoring Mr. Booth Nine, who was grunting and shaking his empty coffee mug in her direction. Who cared? Peter was sitting in front of her and driving her wild with his touch. Mr. Booth Nine could wait. So could the entire planet earth, and a couple of the other major planets too.

Peter looked down at the counter. "Or a stop button." There was an obvious note of sadness to his voice.

"Ah, but then you wouldn't get to run around in spandex," Mary Jane quipped instantly, curling her fingers around his in an attempt to brighten his mood again. "We both know how big a tragedy that would be."

Yes. It definitely would be. No Spidey outfit.

They lapsed into a not-so-comfortable silence before Peter finally lifted his eyes again and said in indignant tones: "It isn't spandex, it's lycra."

Over the months, they had been through the material of his costume at least a hundred times already and it just refused to become a tired, unfunny joke. How many inside jokes had they invented and forgotten already? But this one seemed to stick, was fast becoming a tagline of their relationship. An image suddenly cropped up in the front of her mind. She and Peter were lying in bed late at night, wrapped up in each other and half asleep. _'Lycra,'_ he would suddenly say, resting his chin on top of her head and pulling her closer. _'Spandex,'_ she would whisper back, burying her head into his chest.

_Snap out of it, MJ!_

All she needed now was to start daydreaming about white-picket fences and 2.6 wall-crawling children.

"It's the same thing and you know it."

Peter shrugged. "If you say so."

She could feel the grin spreading across her face at the knowledge that she had won. "Wanna stick around for some coffee? You'll probably be here for the next billion years, but..." Mary Jane dropped a wink. "That isn't really a bad thing."

"Coffee machine revolting?" Peter glanced over her shoulder at the machine (of complete and utter evil), prompting her to turn and look too. Oh wow, what progress. It still had a quarter of a pot to go.

"It's making a noble effort, but never fear, I've not yet fallen prey to the evils of Black & Decker, and I don't plan on doing it any time soon."

As if in reply, the coffee maker burbled.

_Oh yeah, lap it up,_ she silently snapped at the pigheaded coffee maker of certain evil, not entirely sure what she meant. Oy, she really needed to start getting more than two hours of sleep...apparently normal humans needed like, eight, or something. Between shifts at the diner, college, college work, acting classes, auditions, and rehearsals when she was in a play...it was exhausting. That morning she had set a personal record for the most cover-up used to disguise the ghastly bags under her eyes (needless to say, she would need to make a make-up replenishing run, and soon), and was entirely sure that she had acquired an unseemly _line_ on her forehead. Had the world gone mad? Adolescent facial blemishes and post- adolescent lines. And HOW old was she, again? Seriously, she was drawing a blank. Perhaps Peter knew. Or Aunt May.

Oh! She was supposed to tell Peter something. Uh...what was it? 'Kiss me right now,' wasn't it, sadly. Neither was, 'Screw work, let's ditch this place.' Oh, alas. It was nothing so fabulous or earth shattering. Or maybe it was, she couldn't remember.

_You're losing it, MJ. Think, think, think._

Peter was saying something, and usually she would have been listening raptly, but at the moment, she was on a mission. WHAT was it she was supposed to tell him? She had come home late one night, tired and aching, to discover that Liz was very late in coming back from her shift at the hospital and that there was an unheard message on the answering machine. Aha! Aunt May had called her, after several unsuccessful tries at Peter, and told her that she wanted to have them over for an early dinner on Sunday. Mary Jane had collapsed on the couch not five seconds into the message, though, so perhaps there was more to it that she simply wasn't remembering. Ah well, she had the gist anyway.

"Oh!"

Peter blinked and stopped speaking. "You weren't listening to anything I was just saying, were you?"

"Sorry, Tiger," she told him, and she meant it. "But my spider senses were tingling."

How long had she wanted to say that to him? How many times had she been smack dab in the middle of telling him something world-rockingly important only to be cut off with an apologetic, 'Hold that thought,' or a peck on the cheek before he ran off and reappeared seconds later, swinging overhead as his alter-ego? Sometimes she really _was_ saying something highly significant and mostly interesting about her life, without realizing that there was a television broadcasting the local news positioned conveniently over her shoulder. When she got on a roll and convinced herself he was drinking in her every word as if it was some kind of life-sustaining liquid, she just didn't think anything about how his head would turn and his eyes would dart. Then he would leave, kick some butt, and come back fifteen minutes later to find her tapping her foot and inspecting her nails. And of course, by then she had completely forgotten what she had been saying in the first place.

He always made up for it, though.

Off topic.

"Nice, I was wondering when I would be hearing that one." He was apparently attempting to sound apologetic and amused all at the same time, which resulted in a sort of weird hybrid cross of emotions that made Mary Jane grin and tap him on the nose with her free hand.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to use that one. But anyway, I just remembered that Aunt May called me and wants to know if we can go have dinner with her on Sunday."

Her boyfriend arched an eyebrow and looked curious, "And she called you and not me?"

"Think about it."

"Right." Peter rolled his eyes, no doubt mentally reminding himself to splurge for an answering machine of his own. "Well, sure, I don't have any previous engagements, but if any crooks call me up and tell me which store they'll be robbing next, I'll be sure to tell them to reschedule."

Was there a situation he couldn't slip some humor into? Even when he was taking out villains and other such bad guys, he never lost his ability to make fun of the situation. _Probably so he won't have to think about getting his clock knocked off,_ she decided, eyes straying from his face to the hand that was clutching hers. For a man with fists that had collided with numerous jaws and guts, had grabbed fistfuls of clothing to toss adversaries aside, he sure could be gentle and loving in his touch. Another wonderful thing about him to add on to the list. It was as if she had been taken and wrapped up in one of those annoyingly saccharine fantasy worlds were everything worked out perfectly – the girl got the hero, the hero was strong, handsome, brave, charming, etcetera, etcetera...of course, for a perfect man, Peter Parker definitely had faults. Like being late. And delicious quirks. And interests that bored her to tears.

Like chess.

And...science and everything to do with it.

Anyway.

"Hah!" Behind her, the coffee machine gave another garble that she took as a sign that it was almost finished with the arduous task of making coffee. Like it was built to do in like far less than ninety million hours it had taken. "Wouldn't that be convenient? I still say you need a tacky sidekick with no purpose other than to say, 'Holy insert-something-relevant-to-the- situation-here, Spider-Man!' who can patrol for you when, say, you don't feel like it."

Peter laughed again, sending a delighted tickling sensation up and down her spine. She had done that! She had made him laugh! Perhaps she should continue to get less sleep, after all. Apparently it improved her conversation skills. "We all know that would make the cartoon show ratings go down."

Well, she had already succeeded in making him laugh. What else was left but to make him blush?

Downgrading her grin to a slight, hopefully seductive sort of smirk she slid her right hand over to rest on top of his left one. "_I'd_ still buy the merchandise."

Indeed, an adorable flush crept across his cheeks. It thrilled her how he doubted the reality of their relationship even more than she did, and probably cherished it and respected it far more too. He was just that type of person. She could still tell that she drove him wild every time she called him 'Tiger', could still make his eyes widen with shock after some particularly heated kisses. The only possible analogy she could think up while being trapped by his amazingly blue eyes was that he was like a little child standing inside of a toy store, everything free, ripe, and ready for the taking, frozen with shock at the thought of not having to pay for any of it. She, Mary Jane Watson, waitress-in-an-ugly-dress extraordinaire, thrilled him like that. If that wasn't just the most amazing thing in the entire world then someone really needed to update the definition of the word. She thrilled him like he thrilled her...damn. They were just positively thrilling.

Peter's baby blues drifted over her shoulder again, and he nodded in the direction of the coffee machine, obviously trying to get the attention off himself. And any references to merchandise. "Your coffee's ready."

"Aw, I bet you say that to all the girls," Mary Jane trilled flirtatiously, brushing her lips across his cheek, unable to stem the desire any longer.

"No, really," he said, and she felt his face lift into a smile. "Take a look, it's on the impossibility level of you understanding advanced calculus. Except this miracle has unfolded right before my eyes."

_Calculus is math, right?_ she wondered briefly, not really caring if it was or not. All she knew was that Peter had forgotten to shave that morning, and the new experience of kissing his stubbly jaw was driving all coffee- related (and coherent) thoughts out of her mind. But then Peter took her by the shoulders and turned her around to look.

"Holy coffee filters, Batman!" she breathed, staring at the full pot of fresh black coffee in absolute awe. How on earth had this miracle occurred? O_h, Black & Decker, I've defeated you again!_ And she hadn't even had to break anything this time. "To the highly inexpensive, twenty year old cups!"

She shrugged out of Peter's grip and dove under the counter for one of many 'antique' Blackbird mugs. As she rifled around for one that wasn't about to crack into two separate pieces, Peter leaned over the counter to watch her progress.

"I think someone's been eating a little too much apple pie," he told her, chuckling as she attempted to fit a shattered handle onto the side of a handle-less coffee cup. Oh wow, did apple pie sound good...a big, fat, succulent slab of pie, calling out to her enticingly, drawing her nearer with its melodious calls of, 'Eat me! Eat me, Mary Jane!'. Mmmmm.

No! Diet, diet, diet. Must...stay strong.

No pie. None. Not even really delicious pie.

Focus.

Oh, pie...

"I think you've got it backwards." She emerged from beneath the counter victoriously, brandishing a fully functional mug, with just a very-chipped Blackbird emblem to give away its age. "I've obviously been eating too _little_, period."

As if on cue, her stomach growled.

Peter frowned, but said nothing as he watched her pour his coffee. It was only once she had turned back to him, and was sniffing at the coffee suspiciously, as if it were somehow incapable of being normal or drinkable after coming out of the demon machine, that he opened his mouth again. "I _told_ you over and over that you are the last person on this earth that needs a diet." It was almost as if there was a frown in his voice, a frown that tugged at her heartstrings and made her feel like some kind of dirty, rotten human being.

"Says you," was the best response she could come up with. Most of her attention was devoted to making sure she didn't spill the coffee all over him as she set it down in front of him.

"Yeah," he began casually, bringing the rim of the cup up to his lips and blowing into it cautiously. "That would be the point of me saying that I told you that."

Mary Jane raised her eyebrows at him as he swallowed a mouthful of the coffee in one gulp. She was operating on far too little sleep to even begin to comprehend that sentence, but she got the general idea. Concerned boyfriend thinks his girlfriend is beautiful no matter how much she protests, and will always think so no matter how much she argues the contrary. For a fleeting moment, she entertained the idea of herself several degrees less good-looking with several pounds more fat. Then she felt like slapping herself to burn the horrific image from her mind. The lights of Broadway were meant to shine down on perfect people with perfect bodies and perfect features, so that was what she strove to be. Perfect. The brilliant glow of the stage was like a drug, the audience's approval intoxicating...but only the worthy, the perfect, the beautiful were granted their delights. So if cutting down on the between-meal snacks got her back in the limelight, it was well worth it.

"You're insane, do you know that? First you try to get a girl off a diet – "

"A diet she doesn't need to be on because she's perfect just the way she is."

Mary Jane felt perfect and suddenly couldn't remember what they were talking about. "Gee Tiger, who's a girl to argue with all those gosh-darned pretty words?"

To her delight, Peter practically spit out his coffee in his fit of laughter. "You do realize you just said the words 'gee' and 'gosh-darned', right?"

"I must have picked them up from you."

There was a moment of silence before Peter set down his mug and regarded her faux solemnly. "You know, if that weren't so incredibly true," oh no, his eyes had started twinkling...if the counter wasn't there to hold her up, she might have simply fainted from how beautiful his eyes were. "I'd be saying something incredibly witty right now in my defense."

"You?" Mary Jane snorted, eager to do nothing but pull him over to her and kiss his brains out. "Witty? That's like...something very impossible happening."

Peter took another sip of his coffee and sighed dramatically, "Y'know, I think we've both hit our wit limits."

"Speak for yourself, witless one," she murmured without hearing herself, eyes trained on the stupid coffee cup that was blocking her way to his mouth. Never, ever, in her entire life, had she been jealous of a hunk of chipped china. Until that very moment. Oh, to be that old, chipped mug. Why did work have to exist? Why did she have to wait hours and hours and hours until she could kiss Peter as much as she wanted? Why did stupid Mr. Booth Nine have to pick _that exact moment_ to invade her thoughts and knock down the fairytale wall she had built up around her and her boyfriend?

Booth nine was the stupidest booth ever. See if she ever cleaned it again.

"_Excuse_ me, I'd like my coffee some time this DECADE."

_And I'd like to drag Peter into the supply closet. We can't always get what we want, Skipper._

He was a ferociously unkind looking man, the kind of disgusting, low-life creep that made her want to pull out some pepper-spray and shove his face into a bucket full of it. What was it with him and his completely psychotic need for coffee, anyway? Didn't he see that she was having an incredibly romantic, nigh movie-like bonding moment with her superhero boyfriend? Did he not realize that they _never_ just got to exchange banter and worry about each other and daydream about doing obscene things to each other?

Okay, okay, did he not realize that they rarely got to do anything with each other BESIDES daydream about doing obscene things to each other? The jerk. The heartless jerk. How could he not realize any of that?

"I wish he'd go back to playing tonsil-hockey with his fries."

Peter snickered as she pulled the pot of coffee towards her by the handle, and she decided that as soon as she was done serving Tubby, she would have to badger him into telling her where they were going on their date later. He always snickered at her like that whenever she asked about it, and so far no amount of eyelash fluttering or lip puckering had managed to wrangle the secret out of him. Him and his wonderful snickering.

"_How MJ Got Her Wit Back._"

She backed out from behind the counter and laughed, feeling lightheaded and exhilarated once more, as if he had just walked in the door. "Hot exclusive inside. Photos by Peter Parker."

Mr. Booth Nine was attempting to knock down their wall again. "_Hello_! Are you _deaf_?"

Dreamily, she leaned over to give Peter another kiss and muttered into his ear, "What did he just say?"

Peter had apparently discovered something very interesting about her neck. "What did who just say?"

It took every ounce of her (practically nonexistent) willpower not to throw her arms around him and hop into his lap. But oh, he was nibbling in just the right spot...there was suddenly much less racket coming out of the kitchen, but she wasn't paying attention to frivolous things such as sound or breathing. "What?"

Emilio's voice thundered through the cloud that had descended. "Watson, if I hear one more unhappy customer out there, I'll...use the crowbar! Knock his brains out!"

And suddenly, the bliss was gone and Peter was drinking that stupid coffee again, lips delightfully red and kissable. But she knew that their magical tête-à-tête had been brought to an abrupt and rude end, and that she would have to wait until 8:00 to touch him and kiss him and smell him again. Even now, his head was up, alert, eyes searching for something she couldn't see. Duty was calling them both. Hers just involved less spandex and more pouring coffee.

Which was really just as dangerous an activity as brawling with the toughest muggers of New York City, when she thought about it.

So she cast another look back at Peter before marching on towards her Certain Doom and the booth he was seated at. Ugh...did the man even know what a napkin was? Yes, chili cheese fries were far from being delectable, neat little treats but _honestly_. The man had so much chili and cheese on his shirt it was hard for Mary Jane to believe that any of it had made its way from the plate to (the inside of) his stomach. What a slob. Eurch.

"Sorry about the delay, sir, we had problems with - "

"Blah, blah, yadda, yadda, just give me my coffee."

She should have spit in the coffee pot.

_The customer is always right...the customer is always right...that has absolutely nothing to do with this situation. Die, die, die you evil stupid jerk..._

It took every last one of her acting muscles, but she managed to pour his cup of coffee without spilling it in his lap, or dumping the pot over his head, or poking his roving little eyes out. Why did all the sleazy bums have to hang around the diner on her shift, anyway? God, she had heard every pick-up line in the book, been touched and told to pucker up by more disgusting slime bags than she could shake a stick at. Oh, when she really hit the big time...when she was appearing on the Today Show and laughing with Jay Leno and Wayne Brady and chatting companionably with Oprah...then she would get her revenge on all the creeps and womanizers of the world on national television. No girl should ever have to be treated like nothing but a nice rack with hair.

Then she would send Peter out to beat the shit out of them.

Sounded like a plan.

Mr. Booth Nine grumbled something that might have been a, "Finally," when she pulled back, gripping the handle of the coffee pot so tight that her knuckles had gone white and she had completely lost the feeling in her fingertips. Duty done, day saved, coffee poured, Mary Jane slipped back behind the counter and sighed at the lack of Peter. Maybe she was starting to catch on about that crazy spider sense of his. So well, in fact, she had acquired one of her own that let her know when he knew it was time for Spidey action.

She could still smell him, could still feel his thumb running across the back of her hand, could still see his warm, comforting eyes letting her know that she was just her and that was all he needed her to be. The Broadway lights lost their luster when she compared them to the love and...adoration? Whatever it was that seeped out of him...it was too precious, too wonderful to even consider giving it a name. It could not be contained by the brash and unflattering cage that was the English language. What she felt when Peter looked at her, when he spoke to her, when he smiled just for her...it made her get all gushy and warm on the inside, except that wasn't all.

It was more beautiful than she would ever be.

Emilio was yelling at a wrestler on the mini-television, Mr. Booth Nine was setting a new world record for most coffee devoured in two seconds, and the couple in the corner booth had broken apart long enough to fling some change on the table before they were out the door and all over each other again. All of it fell away into a sea of silence as her eyes fell on a square piece of stock paper sitting innocently on the counter beneath the pile of bills Peter had left behind.

**Courtesy, **

**Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man**

Oh yeah.

Definitely love. Definitely.


End file.
